ABSTRACT
He had another small scare, trifling when considered in perspective, but a scare nonetheless. He had awoken one morning to discover a small, pearl-sized pimple on the small of his back. He remembered that he had felt an itch there the day before, had made a mess of things reaching to scratch it: sitting at the small kitchen table, he had twisted to get to the spot that stung, hitting a mug full of coffee in the turn. He’d been able to get his hand around, digging his fingernails in as they rubbed, but by then the spilt coffee had spread out across the table and was dripping on the floor.
